Masqued
by TPod
Summary: (Post-TPM) Romance - A costume ball brings revelations for Queen Amidala.


****

Masqued - by TPod

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Only one small mention of an unmentionable body part, without actually referring to it by name. That's it.

Summary: (Post-TPM) Romance - A costume ball brings revelations for Queen Amidala. 

Author's Note: Just a little bit of whimsey, a piece of fluff, really. 

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Lucasfilm. They are not mine. I wish they were, but they aren't. I have come to accept this. (sob!)

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The masque was under way, representatives from throughout the system having converged on the lush planet of Naboo for its quadrennial Costume Ball. To and fro marched elaborately clad guests, pomp and gaiety being the theme of this evening. The sheer enormity of some of the party-goers' headdresses put the Queen's own wardrobe to shame. Of course, since this was a masked ball, no one was entirely certain if Queen Amidala might be amongst the revelers with such headdresses.

The Grand Ballroom, a cylindrical room with a high iridescent glass domed ceiling, was decorated in ivory and gold, from the long swathes of Mylindian silk hanging from the high ceiling to the gilded rugs adorning the marble floor. Decadent, most assuredly; but compared to other similar balls held throughout the year, this one seemed quite quaint.

Stepping from the shadows of a far corner, a dark scarlet-robed figure made his way through the throng, intently seeking out the Queen. The crush of beings, humans and non-human alike, added to his task, and he relied on his specialized senses to find her. Focusing on her Force signature, one he knew all too well, he spied a petite figure in lavender slipping out into the night through an open door into the cultivated gardens of the Palace at Theed, and moved to follow.

*****

Queen Amidala, or Padmé as she was known only to her closest associates, sighed heavily, then inhaled the fresh, fragrant incense of the flowers blooming in her gardens. Being a Queen did quite often have downsides, and playing generous host to thousands of delegates from the Galactic Senate, the ruling body of the Republic was certainly one of them. At least, she decided, she wasn't under obligation to speak to any of them, not tonight. Part of the challenge of the Ball was to be the first guest to find his or her hostess, under the masks that they all wore. And hers was quite plain, a very simple half mask that covered her forehead and eyes, not at all what one would expect a Queen to wear. Her dress, a simple sheath of lavender, matched her mask, adorned only by a few sparkling gemstones. Without her traditional white and crimson facepaint, she looked much the same as any young woman might.

Strolling through blossoming bushes and past trickling fountains in the moonlight, she found herself longing for the freedom she once had, before her election as ruler of the people of Naboo. Longing for the innocence and fairly uncomplicated life she had lived as the guileless child of a farmer. For over ten years she had ruled Naboo, made decisions that would affect her people, and even had herself fought in the battle to maintain their freedom.

Maybe she just needed to get away, just for awhile. Simplicity.

Taking a seat on a bench near a fountain over which was displayed a statue of two lovers caught in a passionate embrace, her thoughts turned to things romantic. Anakin Skywalker had arrived earlier in the afternoon along with his Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. How he had grown from a sweet little boy into a tall, handsome young man. In fact, his face was now stamped firmly in her mind, the twinkle in his light blue eyes as he bent over her long slender hand, his full lips brushing the back of it. And the stern 'harumph' he had received from his imposing teacher. A flush burned her cheeks then, as they did now in the remembrance of his actions. She had torn her gaze from Anakin to Obi-Wan Kenobi, once a Jedi apprentice himself, and one of the heroes of the people of Naboo during the Trade Federation's blockade and subsequent invasion.

Where Anakin was sweetly handsome, Obi-Wan exuded rugged masculinity. Gone were the pretty-boy looks of yesteryear, replaced by a hard-edged exterior, one that continued to frame brilliant blue-green eyes. Those enigmatic eyes slowly closed, as he tilted his head to her in acknowledgement. He had allowed his hair to grow out from the short bristly Padawan cut of his apprenticeship, and it now nearly touched his shoulders, burnished bronze. A very different look, but not altogether unappealing, she had observed at the time.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sounds of revelers laughing together as they passed. Gathering her dress about her, she shifted over to the fountain's edge, shivering slightly at the sensation of cold marble through the thin material covering her bottom and legs. Dipping her fingertips into the cool water, she swirled ripples on the surface, watching the reflection of the moon shimmer and undulate with her motion. The image was really quite erotic, in a strange way. 

Without warning, she felt a warm puff in her ear, and heard a voice whisper, "Padmé."

Spinning on her seat, she faced a dark hooded, masked figure sitting on the fountain wall beside her. Surprise and not a little fear shot through her, and she gasped, nearly losing her already precarious balance on the narrow wall. A strong arm reached out and gripped hers, steadying her, as well as bringing her closer to him.

In the moonlight that shone from above, the young queen noted that the mask covered the majority of the stranger's face; she was only able to discern that he had light-colored eyes and sensual lips curved into a knowing smile. Her heart fluttered at the sight. Could it be he?

Padmé opened her mouth. "Ani--" A finger was placed over her lips, cutting off her words.

"Shhh…" came another whisper.

It -must- be him! Why, that rascal, sneaking up on her and nearly frightening her out of her wits. But, an extremely sensuous rascal. She sat, her eyes transfixed on the lips of the man beside her, quickly moistening her own very dry lips with her small pink tongue.

The man leaned in close and whispered to her again. His breath smelled of spice and ale, his body of incense and soap.

"A kiss, milady?"

Padmé started, jerking her head back reflexively. This was all so…unexpected. A kiss? Why, the scandal, the repercussions…the Opportunity.

Both fascination and terror wove its way into her mind as something else, something warm and thrilling, flowed through the pit of her abdomen and moved its way lower. Unconsciously, she began to lean forward, her eyes shining in anticipation.

Only to bump noses, or rather masks, with the mysterious man. "Ouch!" she cried, rubbing the offended area. At his soft laugh, she glared. And watched his gloved hand raise to caress her face. "You are so beautiful, sweet Padmé." he murmured softly.

And touched her lips gently with his own.

Amazing the revelations a simple act of touch can bring. The comfort of a warm hand over yours when there seems to be no end to pain; the freeing joy of bare feet running over soft grass; the feeling of renewal as the cool breezes of springtime drift across the plains and into your hair…none of these compared to the swelling rush of excitement a simple kiss could loosen.

And then the warm lips moved away. Padmé sat still, eyes closed, afraid to open them for fear that the owner of said lips would no longer sit beside her. But, when courage and curiosity won out over mere fear, she peeked.

He had not left her. Leaning back and resting his weight on one gloved hand, he seemed to be waiting for something from her. But what? Oh, the next move, of course. And so the Queen moved. Forward.

Stopping just shy of placing her own kiss, she whispered, "A kiss, milord?" And received a quick nod in response.

Quelling her nervousness with an internal rebuke, she slowly reintroduced her lips to their new acquaintances, a gentle brush across soft skin. Those other lips parted slightly and the tip of a tongue emerged to tentatively caress the passing greeting. A light touch fluttered across the back of her head, then more pressure, as a hand enmeshed itself in her thick shining hair, drawing her closer. The man's head dipped, slanting his mouth across hers, taking complete and utter control of the direction and intensity of the kiss. And the Queen, not normally one to give up without a fight nor give in without negotiation, surrendered unconditionally.

She found herself crushed to a strong warm body, invaded not only by a probing tongue but by a tingling sensation that made its way from the tips of her dainty little royal toes to the follicles of her sovereign scalp. That and the small hopeless skirmishes being waged in her stomach and lower, more sensitive areas. A groan sounded, and she wasn't altogether sure that she hadn't uttered it. 

If the weapons of war were mouth and tongue, then the psychological operations were being performed by the scent of spice and incense. Padmé couldn't think. It seemed as though she were being overrun and overwhelmed, but what a way to go… 

Vaguely noticing that she had suddenly been lifted onto the man's thigh, she slipped a hand behind his muscular back and another on his hip, her thumb rubbing circles on the flat plain of his stomach. And felt when those muscles went rigid at her touch.

With a rush of air she found herself staring into a stormy visage, gasping and panting with exertion and something a little more basic - desire. She heard her own ragged breathing somewhere under the din of blood pounding in her ears. And just before she was lifted from her perch on his lap, Padmé felt a warm bulge poking her right buttock. Her paramour twisted his head quickly in the direction of the ballroom and stood, grasping her shaking hands in his own, and drawing her up in front of him.

Somehow he managed to control his breathing, a skill she had not yet mastered, met her eyes and whispered, "I must go." Removing his glove from his left hand, he brought it up to her cheek, caressing it with blunt fingertips. Automatically leaning into his touch, she sighed.

"I'll see you later?" she asked, dazed.

"Yes," he replied, leaning and delivering a final tender kiss, then spinning on his heel and leaving her gaping in wonderment.

Bringing her trembling fingers up to her tingling swollen lips, she sighed. Wow. She had never imagined it could be like this. With the exception of a few bumbling kisses by immature suitors - she had effectively seen to it that they had not made *that* mistake again - never before had she experienced an embrace with such passion. Not even in her wildest dreams. Where had he learned to do that? Surely the Jedi Academy did not have Seduction in their training curriculum…

"Padmé!"

Her head jerked up at the mention of her name. Down the path strode a masked figure in bright blue, towards her. Stopping in front of her, he ripped off his mask, revealing the bright and cheerful face of Anakin Skywalker.

Padmé stood in shock and utter confusion, then peered around the young man at the rapidly retreating figure of the man in scarlet. "I, uh, what, uh, …er…Anakin?"

"Yes? Padmé, what's wrong?" 

****

Deep in the shadows of an outer wall of the Ballroom, a figure swathed in scarlet watched the pair speak briefly, and young Anakin eventually leave the Queen alone beside the fountain. His lips still tingled with sensation, still tasted of sweetness and honey. For a few minutes he observed Padmé, drinking in her graceful stance and ethereal beauty. He wanted to return to her, to again take her into his arms, and to continue where he had left off…But knew that this was impossible. The stolen kisses he had procured would have to do for now. He ached for her. Against his better judgement and the Code by which he lived, he ached for her.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight of the Order, turned and reentered the Ballroom, then made his way up to the room he shared with his Padawan.

~ * ~ * ~ END ~ * ~ * ~


End file.
